


Just Childish Fears

by FlyingLizards



Series: Liars and Thiefs [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Tom Riddle, Gen, Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingLizards/pseuds/FlyingLizards
Summary: It was a flock of deaths, Tom thought mesmerized and terrified.Do reapers travel in packs? He wondered in a bout of hysteria, unable to tear his eyes away. He saw ice forming at their approach.
Series: Liars and Thiefs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891237
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Just Childish Fears

The roof will break, at any moment, Tom thought.

Any moment now.

The violent pitter patter of the rain rattled through his brain and he could almost feel on his skin the cold of it when it perforated the ceiling and unforgivingly showered him; like little needles, at any moment now.

He felt the urge to hide under the cot, but the wetness and dust of the floor was just as uninviting as the scenarios his mind conjured.

Tom tried to reason that it had been years of angry raining and the ceiling had held, always, ever since as far as he could recall. Wool’s orphanage could have been standing since the beginning of times, looking just as old and bleak as it did now, for all he knew.

But, the rain was so _loud_ it might as well be stones.

And the roof above him could give in, eroded after decades, maybe centuries, and rubble would drop on him, cracking his head open, making him lose consciousness –or maybe trapping his legs under the debris, and he would drown. Any moment now.

He kicked off the covers brusquely and stood up; ignoring the sudden chill it brought him and made his way into the wardrobe.

Inside it was cramped and smelled vaguely of naphthalene, all things he could tolerate when needs must. He put on a ratty jacket that he had hung earlier and breathed in slowly in effort of self-soothing.

He should have brought in at least his pillow, he grimaced, maybe a blanket. But the ceiling would surely give in as soon as he put a foot outside and _he’d die_.

At nine years old, nearly ten, he wasn’t as small as he used to be the first time he hid from the rain here, so he rested his head and arms on his knees, making himself comfortable at his best capacity, and in the safety of the wardrobe, he fell asleep.

Tom woke up shivering, unable to feel his legs. he threw himself out in a sudden panic, landing on his hands and taking notice of where he had been and why. He groaned.

Tom felt incredibly stupid now that the rain had stopped.

Of course it wouldn’t break the ceiling, what had he been thinking? He reprimanded himself, grateful for the privacy that being a “problem child” granted him. After all “that rotten child Tom Riddle would only hurt the other children if they made him share a room”

It wasn’t really a lie, but there was no need to call him _rotten_. Bints.

The morning rays shone from outside, but breakfast wouldn’t be served until seven, and he was sure it was barely six in the morning. Tom huffed and climbed onto his bed, unwilling to keep on shivering out of stubbornness. He kept on his jacket since the room was exaggeratedly cold.

Instinctively, Tom realized there was something odd happening, without really thinking he reached with his hand and lifted the curtain.

The glass had frozen over.

It was not unusual by all means, but he was sure last night had not been nearly as cold as to guarantee this thick layer of ice completely covering his window.

He stood up and with force opened the window, cracking it in the process. The ice fell to the ground and landed on a frozen puddle. Both breaking by the collision and startling him momentarily, making him jump.

Adjusting his jacket, he peered outside curiously and saw what it looked like dark sheets floating, like a flock of giant birds, slowly, all heading the same direction.

There was something akin to clawed hands, rotten and corpse like, peeking from under them, as if they hid something humanoid looking.

It was a flock of deaths, Tom thought mesmerized and terrified.

 _Do reapers travel in packs?_ He wondered in a bout of hysteria, unable to tear his eyes away. He saw ice forming at their approach.

_No, It's a swarm._

Tom’s hands were shaking, and his breathing was loud and coming in short puffs, but he did not move nor hide. He feared they might hear him and come for him to eat his soul, or take him away like a bird of prey does to small rodents, yet he could not stop staring. Tom heaved himself up the frame, craning his neck to the point that if he leaned just a bit over he’d surely fall.

The grim reapers came from everywhere in the sky, but they all were piling up over the same building, composing by all means the most terrible storm cloud, and Tom knew with certainty that they were hunting.

A scream broke through the silence, half like a man and half like an animal, coming from somewhere he couldn’t see, followed by loud CRACKS! Like gunshots, like a starting car.

The CRACKS reverberated again after a minute of silence. The grim reapers flew away, heading north, taking the frost with them.

London’s regular morning visage greeted him after that. He could hear people milling around on the streets, and realized this had been just another of those things only he could see.

At breakfast he kept his mouth shut; lest the matrons deem another exorcism necessary, or decide that dropping him at the madhouse was a sound way of getting rid of him; and remained subdued the rest of the day, wondering if tomorrow morning he’d be woken up by the frozen chill, and with claw like hands squeezing his throat.

Perhaps that had been something he was not allowed to see.

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs* wanted to write Tom Riddle acting like a kid. People always write him like a miniature adult


End file.
